Police Your Planet - Lester del ...

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* * * Info * * *Author: Del Rey, LesterTitle: Police Your PlanetPublisher: Ballantine BooksCopyright: Original copyright by Erik van Lhin, 1956. 1975 by Random House, Inc.Abridged version published by Avalon Books, 1956. Shorter serialised version inScience Fiction Adventures, Future Publications, Inc., 1953.Printing: First, 05/1975. Second, 11/1981.ISBN: 0-345-29858-6Version history:v1.0: Proof completed on 22/02/2006. Some obvious typographical errors in theoriginal scan of the treeware have been corrected, but the author's version has beenrespected in all other matters.DedicationTo JAMES BLISHWho understood the intentdespite the content.Back coverUNDER THE DOME OF MARSIt was the biggest dome ever built, large enough to cover all of Marsport before theslums sprawled out beyond it. The dome covered half the city, making breathingpossible inside without a helmet.But it wasn't designed to stand stray bullets, and having firearms inside?except for afew chosen men?was a crime punishable by death!Suddenly Gordon heard a noise?someone was shooting at him!* * * Text begins * * *IThere were ten passengers in the little pressurized cabin of the electric bus thatshuttled between the rocket field and Marsport. Ten men, the driver?and BruceGordon!He sat apart from the others, as he had kept to himself on the ten-day trip betweenEarth and Mars, with the yellow stub of his ticket still defiantly in the band of his hat,proclaiming that Earth had paid his passage without his permission being asked. Hisbig, lean body was slumped slightly in the seat. Gray eyes stared out from under blackbrows without seeing the reddish-yellow sand dunes slipping by. There was noexpression on his face. Even the hint of bitterness at the corners of his mouth wasgone now.He listened to the driver explaining to a couple of firsters that they were actually onwhat appeared to be one of the mysterious canals when viewed from Earth. Everybook on Mars gave the fact that the canals were either an illusion or something whichcould not be detected on the surface of the planet. Gordon lost interest in the subject,almost at once.He glanced back toward the rocket that still pointed skyward back on the field, andthen forward toward the city of Marsport, sprawling out in a mass of slums beyondthe edges of the dome that had been built to hold air over the central part. And at lasthe stirred and reached for the yellow stub.He grimaced at the ONE WAY stamped on it, then tore it into bits and let the piecesscatter over the floor. He counted them as they fell; thirty pieces, one for each year ofhis life. Little ones for the two years he'd wasted as a cop. Shreds for the four years asa kid in the ring before that?he'd never made the top, though it had taken enoughtime getting rid of the scars from it. Bigger bits for two years also wasted in trying hishand at professional gambling; they hadn't made him a fortune, but they'd been fun atthe time. And the six final pieces that spelled his rise from a special reporter helpingout with a police shake-up coverage through a regular leg-man turning up rackets, andon up like a meteor until he was the paper's youngest top man, and a growing thorn inthe side of the government. He'd made his big scoop, all right. He'd dug up enoughabout the Mercury scandals to double circulation.And the government had explained what a fool he'd been for printing half of a storythat was never supposed to be printed until it could all be revealed. They'd given himhis final assignment, escorted him to the rocket, and explained just how many groundsfor treason they could use against him if he ever tried to come back without theirinvitation.He shrugged. He'd bought a suit of airtight coveralls and a helmet at the field. Hehad enough to get by on for perhaps two weeks. And he had a set of reader cards inhis pocket, in a pattern which the supply house Earthside had assured him had neverbeen exported to Mars. With them and the knife he'd selected, he might get by.The Solar Security office had given him the knife practice to make sure he could useit, just as they'd made sure he hadn't taken extra money with him beyond theregulation amount."You're a traitor, and we'd like nothing better than seeing your guts spilled," theSecurity man had told him. "That paper you swiped was marked top secret. Whenwe're trying to build a Solar Federation from a world that isn't fully united, we haveto be rough. But we don't get many men with your background?cop, tin-horn,fighter?who have brains enough for our work. So you're bound for Mars, rather thanthe Mercury mines. If?"It was a big if, and a vague one. They needed men on Mars who could act as links intheir information bureau, and be ready to work on their side when the trouble theyexpected came. They could see what went on, from the top. But they wanted menplanted in all walks, where they could get information when they asked for it. Troublewas due?overdue, they felt?and they wanted men who could serve them loyally,even without orders. If he did them enough service, they might let him back to Earth.If he caused trouble enough to bother them, they could still help him to Mercury."And suppose nothing happens?" he asked."Then who cares? You're just lucky enough to be alive," the agent told him flatly."And what makes you think I'm going to be a spy for Security?"The other had shrugged. "Why not, Gordon? You've been a spy for six years now?against the crooked cops and tin-horns who were your friends, and against the menwho've tried to make something out of man's conquest of space. You've been a spyfor a yellow scandal sheet. Why not for us?"It had been a nasty fight, while it lasted. And maybe he was here only because theother guy had proved a little faster with the dirtiest punches. Or maybe becauseGordon had been smart enough to realize that Security was right?his backgroundmight be useful on Mars. Useful to himself, at least.They were in the slums around the city now. Marsport had been settled faster than itwas ready to receive colonists. Temporary buildings had been thrown up and then hadremained, decaying into death-traps, where the men whose dreams had gone seethedand died in crowded filth. It wasn't a pretty view that visitors got as they first reachedMars. But nobody except the romantic fools had ever thought frontiers were pretty.The drummer who had watched Gordon tear up his yellow stub moved forward now,his desire to make an impression stronger than his dislike of the other. "First time?"he asked, settling his fat little carcass into the seat beside the larger man.Gordon nodded, mentally cataloguing the drummer as to social, business, andpersonal life. The cockroach type, midway between the small-businessman slug andthe petty-crook spider types that weren't worth bothering with. He could get alongwithout the last-minute pomposity.But the other took it as interest. "Been here dozens of times myself. Risking yourlife, just to go into Marsport. Why Congress doesn't clean it up, I'll never know! Butbusiness is business, I always say. It's better under the dome than out here, though.Last time I was here, they found a whole gang outside the dome selling human meat.Absolutely. And cheaper than real meat."Gordon grunted. It was the usual untrained fool's garbled account. He'd heard aboutit on the paper. Some poor devil had taken home a corpse to a starving family out ofsheer desperation. Something about the man having come out to Mars because one ofhis kids had been too weak for Earth gravity, to open a cobbling shop here. Then he'dfallen behind in his protection payments and had tried one of the cheap gambling hallsto make good. The paper's account hadn't indicated what happened to the family afterthey hung him, but a couple of the girls had been almost pretty. Maybe they'd beenable to live.Gordon's mind switched from gambling to the readers in his bag. He had nointention of starving here?nor staying, for that matter. The cards were plastic, andshould be good for a week or so of use before they showed wear. During that time, byplaying it carefully, he should have his stake. Then, if the gaming tables here were ascrudely run as an old-timer he'd known on Earth had said, he could try a coup. If itworked, he'd have enough to open a cheap-john joint of his own, maybe. At least,that's what he'd indicated to the Security men.But the price of bribing a ship to take him back to Earth without a card came toabout the same figure, and there were plenty of ways of concealing himself, once hegot back?"?be at Mother Corey's soon," the fat little drummer babbled on. "Notorious?worst place on Mars. Take it from me, brother, that's something! Even the cops areafraid to go in there. Seven hundred to a thousand of the worst sort?See it? There, toyour left!"The name was vaguely familiar as one of the sore spots of Marsport. Gordon looked,and spotted the ragged building, half a mile outside the dome. It had been a rocketmaintenance hangar once, then had been turned into a temporary dwelling for the firstdeportees when Earth began flooding Mars. Now, seeming to stand by habit alone, itradiated desolation and decay.Sudden determination crystalized in Gordon's mind. He'd been vaguely curious as towhether the Security boys would have a spotter on his movements. Now he knewwhat to do about it?and this was as good a spot to start as any.He sto... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]